


All I Need (Is You)

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, SamDeanOTPMinibang2013, Schmoop, Season 8 Spoilers, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the third trial is aborted, Dean takes Sam to hospital where he recovers. Dean wants them to rest a while, he needs Sam to get better in his own time so - with Charlie's help - Dean takes Sam on a luxury vacation to the sun-kissed beaches of Mexico. Charlie suggests their cover should be as a gay couple and, reluctantly both brothers go along with the plan.  While they both rest, recover and for the first time in a long time have <i>normal</i> lives, the brothers reconnect but in a way that neither of them ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Need (Is You)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks must go to colls on LJ for her awesome art. This is the second time we've worked together and she is so good to work with that I hope we get to do it again! [Please go and give her kudos on DW!](http://swannee.dreamwidth.org/103789.html)
> 
> Thanks to the mods at [samdean-otp](http://samdean-otp.livejournal.com/) for running this challenge and a sort of nod to Jeremy Carver who stole my idea of hospitalized Sam! Bugger!

The young receptionist in the ER looked alarmed as Dean hauled Sam into the corridor and placed him gently onto one of the chairs.

Dean gritted his teeth and stormed the desk, boots slamming against the fake mahogany, aware that he must look pretty beaten up himself, dirty jacket and faded jeans, mud all over his boots. 

At least Sam had stopped glowing.

“There could be quite a wait.” The woman looked as worn as Dean felt. “Seems to be some sort of crisis going on.” She swallowed and lowered her voice, “Folks are claiming they saw people falling . . . ,” her voice dropped again. “Falling from the sky.”

“Yeah,” Dean croaked out his answer with a wry grin and rolled his eyes. “That’s weird,” he added for effect.

“Dean,” Sam moaned his name, breathless, the wheezing in his throat as disturbing as it had been the first four or five times. “Dean . . . .”

“S’ok, Sammy.” Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and put his hand on his forehead wincing at the heat there, the hectic color in Sam’s cheeks. “I’m getting’ us some help.”

“Are you alright sir?” The receptionist looked more than concerned now, her hands fluttering around the keys of her computer.

“M-my brother is having a little trouble breathing here,” Dean spat out the answer like bile, his stomach churning in panic. “So no, I’m not alright.”

There was a general air of panic in the waiting area, people everywhere, screaming kids, and trembling adults. Dean managed to get the proffered oxygen mask over Sam’s nose and mouth. The sense of relief when he started to breathe easier almost palpable.

_People falling from the sky._

Dean’s eyes took in the chaos and wondered if every ER room in the country, hell in the world was like this. Angels wandering about dazed and confused, waking up on Earth for the first time in a millennia. He wondered if they remembered who they were, wondered how they might explain themselves away. 

Sam drew another rattled breath, eyes fuzzy above the mask. He was so thin and so pale, his skin almost transparent. Maybe he should have let Sam finish the trials, especially if he was going to die anyway. He swallowed down the sick feeling in his throat. Fuck this, and fuck them! He was so damned tired of it all. So many thoughts were flashing through his mind he was dizzy with it. Where was Castiel? What was going to happen with Crowley? Who was gonna’ sort out all of these fucking angels? He knew the answers, he knew them deep in his gut and in his heart, but he didn’t want to hear them. 

A hand snagged his arm and he turned to see Sam staring at him with wild eyes. His lips looked blue even through the mask and Dean had to swallow down a lump that appeared to have lodged itself in his throat before he actually spoke to his brother.

“Stay with me, Sammy,” he urged, putting his own hand over Sam’s shaking fingers. “They’ll see you soon – everything is gonna’ be fine.”

Trouble was, could Dean convince Sammy, when he couldn’t even convince himself?

Sam had his own room and Dean was relieved that _David Copperfield_ could afford it on his platinum credit card (newly picked up from one of their regular post boxes just before the shit hit the proverbial). The doctor who had seen to Sam was young and hassled, his glasses falling off his nose, hair all over the place. He looked as if he had been there for hours (which he probably had) and was going to be there for a lot longer.

“We’ve taken bloods but my best guess, judging by the x-ray results and the scans of your brother’s lungs, is that Sam has a very severe case of pneumonia made worse by extreme anemia and malnutrition.” The doctor frowned. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me how he got into this state.”

“Overwork,” Dean spat out the lie as if it were something gross. “Sam here takes his responsibilities to heart and never does anything by halves.” That part was true enough and he wanted to hit something in frustration as he looked down at his baby brother; sick, thin, and dying for the fucking cause – again.

“We need to keep him quiet and stable.” The doctor’s expression softened a touch and he squeezed Dean’s shoulder, a gesture of manly comfort. “He has a drip to give him the nutrients he needs and we’ll put him on a high calorie and protein diet. We will have to give him blood to levitate the anemia and we’ll be giving him an iron supplement until he stabilizes.”

Dean nodded; he felt claustrophobic, trapped and he just wanted to take Sam in his arms and bolt. He guessed that most of Sam’s problems were _supernatural_ but maybe these natural remedies would work their magic.

“How long will he be here?” He shook the grim thoughts from his head. “You know, I – um – I need to get him some things.”

“Anything from 2-3 weeks and that is best case scenario.” The doctor managed a weak and sympathetic smile. “It is fortunate we’ve gotten him a bed, what with all that’s going on. I suppose you’ve heard, it’s all over the radio and TV, people are falling from the skies,” he huffed a tired laugh. “The world is going mad and we are trying to save everyone we can but it is like sticking a band aid on a broken limb.”

Dean could only nod; shit he understood better than the doctor would ever know but he wanted to scream out, _’if you only save one person make sure it’s Sammy’_ but he couldn’t, wouldn’t and so he settled for shaking the dude’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said, forcing warmth into his voice. “Thanks for taking care of my brother.”

The doctor looked surprised and grateful.

“It’s okay,” he said.

***

In his dreams, Crowley is begging him for a favor, asking him if, as the King of Hell, could he ever be forgiven. In his dreams, he finishes the trial cleansing Crowley, curing him. He hears the gates slam shut even as he falls to the ground, intense pain searing his body as he slips away, Dean’s voice urgent in his ears.

“Sam!”

He opened his eyes; they were heavy and sore and his arm hurt like a bitch. His throat was so dry that when he tried to speak he could only cough harsh and painful. Something sweet and refreshing was poured into his mouth and he swallowed gratefully, his shaking hand coming up to wrap around his brother’s wrist, relishing the feel of Dean’s skin, his strength.

“Hey,” he managed and he felt Dean’s shudder, the intensity of it going right through him. “Hospital?” 

Dean made a tiny choked up noise and rubbed at his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother’s voice was wrecked.

“Have I . . . ?” Sam felt sick, his head hurt and he could taste blood in the back of his throat. “Have I been here long?”

“Just over 3 weeks.” Dean rubbed his face again and Sam could see the smear of tears on his cheeks. “T-they are doin’ their best but – Sam, it’s just takin’ a little longer than they thought.”

“I told you that nothing . . . .” 

“Shut the fuck up, Sam!” Dean burst out, anger and grief making him shake. “You were nearly dead when I brought you in here, and now you ARE getting better. Your vital signs, your anemia, it is all improving.” He shook his head. “They reckon you might get out of here in another week or so.”

“Sorry.” He wanted to cry along with Dean but he kept his tears tamped down. “I just . . . I’m sorry.”

“Do you know you were lucky to get a room? Damn hospital is full of people who have _FALLEN_ from the sky. Yeah – fallen from the sky, Sam.”

“Angels?”

“I’m guessin’ – yeah.” Dean huffed the weakest of laughs. “Unless aliens have finally landed.”

“Castiel?”

“No sign of him.” Dean was a little calmer now, he sat down on the bed and put his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. “I don’t know if they actually remember anything and I haven’t even bothered to find out.”

“What about Crowley? Kevin?”

“Don’t know.” Dean’s mouth tightened. “And you know what Sammy? I don’t actually care.”

Sam wanted to frown but it hurt too much. He chewed on his lower lip and pondered on a million questions.

“You rest now. Sammy,” Dean was still talking soft and gentle. “Sooner you get better, the sooner you are out of here.”

Sam nodded; he reached out a hand, shocked at how thin and clawed it looked. He wondered, faintly, how Dean had explained his illness away, he wondered if anyone had seen the needle tracks on his arm, he guessed not or he’d be in a psyche ward not here.

“Go home and rest,” he said. “Please.”

“They have a nice comfy chair here and the TV works fine,” Dean snorted and put his hand over Sam’s frail one. “Now, fucking shut up and sleep. It’s been quiet without your whining.”

Sam managed a smile; he closed his eyes and let himself relax, safe in the knowledge that, as always, Dean had his back.

***

It had been four weeks since Dean had taken Sam to the hospital and, since then, the world had gone mad. The TV and radio still had reports of people falling from the sky, odd articles about men and women wandering into hospitals or, bizarrely, churches. Most of them, it appeared, had lost their memories or only had vague recollections of where they had come from. Dean knew he should attempt to contact Cas or Kevin, maybe even answer one of the fifty voice mails he had gotten from Garth but he wasn’t going to. His main priority right now was Sam; getting Sam out of hospital, getting Sam better and making sure Sam was never put into such a position again.

“Mr. Copperfield . . . .”

The doctor who was treating Sam didn’t look any less tired but he was smiling. He grabbed Dean’s arm and held him firm.

“It’s good news, we are hoping to release Sam at the end of this week. He is responding really well to treatment now, and his blood levels are up to almost normal.” He grinned wryly. “As we don’t have the facilities to treat all of the patients that are being brought in we are trying to release those we can into family care. Will you be able to look after him?”

Dean swallowed. They hadn’t ever really had a home until recently but he wasn’t sure if the bunker was an ideal place to nurse Sam back to health. For one Kevin might still be there or maybe even Castiel had found his way back. Charlie knew of their location and so did Garth. It wouldn’t be too long before other hunters or other creatures found them too and he didn’t want that, not now, he wanted peace and quiet, he wanted out.

“I . . . yeah . . . I need to sort a few things, but I could do it, I could take care of him.” He wondered if Sam would be angry, whether he would protest at not being consulted, but that was the least of his worries now. For now, he needed to find somewhere remote, somewhere he could take his brother and be safe. He had a sudden longing for the ocean, a yearning for warm sun and soft sand. His mind began to work over-time and he couldn’t help but smile when his brain supplied an answer.

He was gonna’ do a _Butch and Sundance_ \- he was gonna’ take them to Mexico.

A week wasn’t a long time to organize anything.

Dean hunkered down over the laptop in the cheap motel that he had been staying in for the past week and sighed, biting his fingernails until they were raw wasn’t the best way forward but he needed to do this, needed to do it for Sam.

The pictures on the screen were bright, the colors vivid and beautiful. Dean could almost smell the ocean; taste the salt tang on his tongue. The _Hotel Hacienda_ was small but smart looking, red flowers hanging down over the bright yellow painted wooden slats. There is a pool in one shot and, obviously posed, pictures of pretty, young things leaning against the poolside sipping cocktails. It looked like paradise and Dean tried to remember when, if ever, he had had a vacation, done something that didn’t involve hunting or demons or angels or any kind of fucking monsters. He picked up his cell and let his fingertips play over the buttons there. He knew that he needed help but he also knew he needed help from someone unlikely to tell others where they were. He bit his lip, took one more look at the hotel, his little paradise near the ocean, and pressed call.

Charlie got them the passports with no problems; _Dean Huxley_ and _Sam C Clarke_ were fine upstanding citizens with jobs in IT and a home in Kansas. Charlie suggested that they travel as _a couple_ and, although Dean was unsure, he decided that it would be the best way forward. Not travelling as brothers would hide them in plain sight and make everything a lot fucking easier.

Mexico – once a pipe dream – seemed closer than ever.

***

Sam felt stiff all over but the aches that had plagued his body since the first trial were beginning to fade. His mouth was dry and his right arm still throbbed like a bitch but it was evident, just by looking down at himself as he fastened the buttons on his shirt, that he was putting on weight, and that his skin had lost that awful dull tinge, even though it still looked pasty and thin.

He couldn’t wait to get out of here, to go back to the bunker and start researching again. He kinda’ hoped Kevin was there, wanted to talk to him about the angel tablet. There was going to be a hell of a lot of work and research needed now that angels had fallen from heaven and were walking the earth. Dean hadn’t mentioned if they remembered being angels or if they were a danger at all, in fact, Dean had hardly spoken about what had happened and it made Sam concerned in a way that he couldn’t understand.

“Hey Sammy.” As if his imagination had conjured Dean up, he appeared at the door leaning casually against the jamb. Sam had to confess he looked good, his skin was tanned and he’d shaved, his face smooth, freckles splattered randomly across his nose and forehead. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Dean smile like that and his unease ramped up another notch.

“Hi Dean.” He rubbed a hand through his own greasy hair, longer than ever and waxy beneath his fingers. He knew he had a few weeks growth of scruff, knew that he had shadows under his eyes that only served to enhance his cheekbones, sharp and jutting after the sudden weight loss. “I’m really, really, ready to get out of here,” he added.

“I can see that, Sam.” Dean was already shoving clothing and shoes into a spare duffel. “You need a shower and a shave dude, and then we can go. Booked us into a nice motel for tonight and then tomorrow . . . .” He grinned again and patted Sam’s shoulder in a way that seriously disturbed him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam.” His brother put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gently pulled him to his feet. Sam felt weak for a moment, swaying as he gained his balance. He wanted, instantly, to lie down again but he didn’t want to get back into the short, hard, hospital bed and he hoped the motel Dean had booked into was nice and clean with longer beds and a much softer mattress. “Hey, little brother,” Dean sounded almost tender and Sam had to smile thinking how Dean would deny this should it ever come up in conversation. For a moment his _no chick flick moments_ philosophy seemed to have been forgotten and Sam felt stupidly grateful for having his big brother back, even if it was just for a while.

***

The leather seat was warm from the early afternoon sunshine and it was almost too bright after nearly six weeks in the sterile womb-like existence he had lived in the hospital. He leaned against the window, cool against his cheek, and stared out at the world, at people going about their daily lives, all of them innocent, normal, unaware of what had happened, and what was still happening. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about the angels, about Crowley, and about the trials. He had failed again, but that didn’t seem to matter now. At least, he was with his brother, at least he was alive.

“Sam.” Dean’s hand was gentle on his thigh. “Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t realized he’d been dozing until he startled awake. The car had stopped and they were outside a small but smart looking motel boasting, **Heated Swimming Pool & Free Wi-Fi**.

“Thought you might appreciate a little luxury.” Dean opened his door and helped him out. Under normal circumstances, he would have shrugged off his brother’s support, shown Dean he could manage on his own but he was more than grateful for the support and just let it all happen, relieved to be out in the fresh air.

“How long are we staying here?” Sam laid back on the soft mattress and sighed contentedly. “I guess we should head back to the bunker, see what’s been going on.”

“Yeah.” There was a smear of color on Dean’s cheeks. “About that . . . .”

“Dean?” Sam felt more than a little confused; nearly two months ago they watched heaven fall and yet his brother doesn’t appear to have done a damn thing about it. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We’re not going back to the bunker.” Dean doesn’t seem able to meet his eyes. “Sammy, we’re not going back to the bunker.”

“But the angels? Crowley is still out there somewhere, and God knows what he is right now and then there is the tablet and Kevin. The world has gone to shit Dean and we need to . . . .”

“We don’t need to do anything,” Dean cut him off, abruptly, sharp. “We’ve done enough, Sammy!”

“It’s never enough.” Sam felt a thrum of desperation and frustration zing through him. “Dean.”

“You sacrificed yourself for the world, and where did it get you?! No soul and a fucking wall in your head that Cas broke in some wild quest. I killed Dick Roman, and ended up in Purgatory for a year. Did I get any reward for that? No! I had to kill Benny and suck it up, no-one knocking at my door with congratulations. You started the trials, and look what happened there. You just got sick and weak and we couldn’t even finish them, cos it would have ended up with you dead. I don’t want you dead, Sammy. I want you alive. You are all I care about, and you were so fucking sick I thought I was going to lose you anyway,” Dean drew in a sharp breath and leaned back against the wall. “I’ve had enough of it always being us.”

“So what now?” Sam didn’t know if he dared ask. He licked his dry lips and tried to work out what his brother had in mind. They had tried to pull out of hunting before and it had never worked.

“Not saying this is the end – I’m just calling a do-over.” Dean shook his head as if to clear it. “A vacation, Sammy – a real vacation.”

“A vacation?” Sam’s head was hurting. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I got the passports and everything.”

“Passports?”

“We’re going to Mexico, Sammy.” Dean was smiling. “Mexico.”

“Have you lost your mind?” It sounded tiny and ungrateful. “Have you?”

“No, but you nearly lost yours – again – and I’m fucking pissed off with it; we don’t need to keep saving the world, Sam. Shit, it’s time we started saving ourselves.” Dean took a breath as if he was thinking about his next statement. “If you don’t want to come with me you could go back and find Amelia again, take her up on her offer.”

“I won’t do that. I can’t.” Sam knew those bridges had been burned a long time back. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“Then you’ll come with me?” Dean sounded young, vulnerable, his voice shaking. “Please.”

“Yeah.” Sam couldn’t say no, Dean had done so much for him; he was his best friend, his brother, his protector, his everything. “Yeah, I’ll go with you - but its temporary, right? We will come back again, we will try and help sort out this mess.”

Dean grinned, light now as if a weight had been lifted.

“We will, Sammy,” he intoned, taking away the seriousness of his statement by putting his hand over his heart as if taking an oath. “We will.”

***

Dean was relieved at how quickly his brother had agreed; Sam could be a stubborn fucker when he had the bit between his teeth but Dean had caught him when he was still feeling weak and a little confused and, as guilty as that made him feel, he was pretty happy that he had managed to get a yes out of Sam.

He had yet to tell his brother that they were traveling as a couple; he knew that this would cause a huge bone of contention but, hopefully, Sam would find it amusing. They had been mistaken for a gay couple on many occasions and they had always managed to laugh about it. Dean had been the butt of Sam’s jokes, his little brother telling him it was his fault for overcompensating with his _macho_ image. Dean secretly thought it was Sam’s fault with his long girly hair and dewy expression. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t be too hard for them to pass for gay and Dean wasn’t going to let that particular problem stop him from having a good time and giving his brother an even better one, although it might curb his style as far as chicks were concerned, not that had been much of an issue since the Amazon incident.

Sam was finally sleeping in a nice bed; it was long enough for his legs, his head resting comfortably on the pillow, hair fanned out across the white cotton. He looked pale and still painfully thin but he did look better and Dean knew he was eating a little more, although he was still reliant on the vitamins and supplements he had brought with him from the hospital. He swallowed and sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed being careful not to wake him. Sam gave a little sigh and turned on his back, arm flung across his face, but he didn’t wake and Dean smiled softly running his long fingers through Sam’s hair because when his brother was asleep he got to do this, he got to take care of his brother, to pretend he was three not thirty, to be a big brother again something he felt he had failed at, time after time after time.

***

“We’re traveling as a gay couple?” It was a blessed relief to see Sam’s bitch face out in full force, eyes narrowed, lips clenched. “Whose bright idea was that?”

“Charlie’s actually, she said that if there was anyone left who remembered those fake _us_ , then our new identities would certainly put them off.”

“I’m not doing anything so cliché as holding your hand and calling you sweetheart,” Sam huffed out as he fastened his duffel. “Do you think anyone will notice that we are traveling pretty light?”

“Nah, and we can buy things when we get there - swimming trunks, board shorts.” He chuckled and added, “We are gonna’ look so fucking cool.”

Sam laughed then but it still sounded fake, forced. Dean swallowed and prayed that things would get better for both of them. They weren’t very good at being _normal_ , so here was their opportunity to practice.

***

Sam was confused when Dean left the Impala in a long-stay parking garage and called them a cab. There were no remarks about _leaving my baby_ or other sentimental statements that Dean usually made about the car. He was almost amazed when the cab Dean had hired dropped them off at the local airport, the driver helping them with their bags and getting a more than generous tip.

“What’s going on Dean?” He gestured to the glass fronted doors, yelling slightly over the roar of the planes, “I mean – you don’t fly.”

His brother shrugged guiltily and waved his hand in a feeble attempt at bravado.

“Can’t have you driving all that way Sammy, not good for you to be cramped up in the car. Dean Huxley can afford the best you - two business class seats with ample leg room.” He attempted a cocky grin but it looked a bit green around the edges. “Nice hostesses too, if the ads are anything to believe.” He smirked weakly before adding, “Might even get you in the mile high club.”

Sam wanted to hug his brother; he felt suddenly warm inside, the weakness of the past couple of months ebbing away. He thought of all the things Dean had done for him over the years, remembered everything his brother had sacrificed for him and it made him ache in a good way.

“Sounds great,” he said. “But as I am supposed to be your partner, I don’t think any of the female hostesses will want to actually join me in the club, do you?”

Dean flushed a little and managed a laugh.

“Forgot about that, Sammy,” he huffed. “We certainly can’t fit together in the john.” He shrugged. “Never mind, I’ll get you laid at some point this vacation. I promise, Sammy.”

Sam felt color rush to his cheeks and he shook his head, reluctant.

“I’m okay with celibacy for now,” he said, finally. “Thanks, anyway.”

Dean shrugged, disappointment flitting across his face only for it to be replaced by fear the moment a plane roared overhead.

“Let’s check in.” He looked pale. “Before I change my mind!”

***

Business class was certainly something Sam could get used to. He lay back on the comfortable seat and stretched out his long legs. He had kicked his boots off at the start of the flight and was currently enjoying a cool bottle of very expensive beer. He smiled wryly as he glanced to the empty seat on his left. Dean might as well have booked himself onto a normal seat because he hadn’t actually been sitting in his expensive one. Dean had spent most of the flight in the john and Sam was certain that he wasn’t actually trying to join the _Mile High Club_.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes; he had never known such luxury in his entire life. Most of his childhood had been spent in dirty motels or shady rentals, he hadn’t had much in the way of toys or games relying on Dean to _entertain_ him. When he had gotten to Stanford he hadn’t had an expensive room, making do with a shared dorm and a poky shower, even when he had been sharing with Jess his apartment was clean and basic and when Dean had come to fetch him it had been full circle and he was back to dingy motels again. He had found a pretty respectable house with Amelia but, again, it was hardly special but this, this was really living and Sam could certainly get used to it.

“Would you like another drink, Mr. Clarke?” The pretty hostess, who had served him an exquisite lunch earlier, appeared at his side and he shifted so that he could smile at her.

“Yeah.” He mused on what he might like; coffee perhaps or a long cool cocktail. “Maybe a club soda with lime?” 

“Is that all?” She looked a little surprised at his order. “Would you like chips or some other snacks, maybe?”

“I’d love that thanks.” He grinned at her and looked over her shoulder. “Have you seen my br . . . .? partner, Mr. Huxley? I seem to have mislaid him.”

She laughed then and pointed to the john.

“I don’t think he likes flying,” she said finally. “Why does he do it? If he hates it so much.”

Sam felt his throat grow tight and he fumbled for words knowing exactly why Dean did what he did, why he faced his fears, why he’d flown, rather than drive his baby.

“For me,” he said and heard her fond sigh. “He does it for me.”

***

Dean had never felt so happy to be in an airport. He grabbed his bag and then he grabbed Sam’s, hauling both bags onto an airport trolley and heading for the doors. Sam followed him squinting against the brightness, listening to the lyrical hum of different languages and taking in the colorful airport shops selling cheap souvenirs.

Outside the sun was hot and searing; Dean slipped on his sunglasses and passed Sam a pair. The warmth wormed its way through his jeans and stung at his skin and the air smelt dry, sandy, the sharp tang of the ocean a faint but comforting scent. Sam had already taken off his jacket and was rolling up his sleeves. He still looked too thin, arms hanging pale from his baggy shirt. Dean vowed that it would be nachos and chili from now on, promising himself tequila as soon as they arrived at the hotel.

The cab was bright green with a white roof and the driver full of smiles and loud gestures. He loaded up the trunk without help, even though he must have been a foot smaller than both of them, and then got them into the back without too much trouble, the two of them squashed together in the heat; shoulders tight, sweat beginning to form against the base of Dean’s spine.

They hadn’t been in the back of a car together since childhood and it was strange and comforting all at once. Sam was staring out of the window unconcerned by the closeness of his brother and Dean felt a sudden stab of affection wanting to put his arm around Sam and keep him close. They had never been particularly tactile but in the past year they hadn’t really been close to each other at all. Lingering resentments had pushed them apart and it had been hard to maintain the love and affection they had always had for each other. Dean would never really understand why Sam hadn’t looked for him when he was in purgatory and it was clear, from what he had said in the church, that Sam hadn’t really ever forgiven himself for that. It had been hard to listen to Sam’s speech, hard to see his brother crying over the fact he thought he had let his brother down again, and again, and again. Dean swallowed hard and pressed closer to Sam, suddenly wanting to reassure himself that Sam was here and alive.

“You okay?” Sam turned from the window and smiled at him, a wide, genuine smile, dimples and everything.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, his own smile breaking free. “I am now.”

***

The hotel took Sam’s breath away.

It was beautiful, set on the edge of its own private beach, whitewashed and clean, it was surrounded by lush flowers and it had two huge pools that glittered like diamonds in the late afternoon sunshine.

Sam didn’t spoil the moment by asking Dean how he could afford this. It was clear that Charlie had worked some sort of magic and he didn’t want to question it. Dean helped him out of the cab and got the bags from the trunk and Sam caught their driver looking at them with a fond smile on his face and he grimaced internally remembering only too well what their cover was for this particular _vacation_.

The clerk at the desk had the same sappy look on his face as the cab driver and Sam felt his cheeks flush a little. Dean seemed to have no problem with any of it, throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulders as they walked up to the desk, announcing their presence loudly and booking them in with a flourish.

 

“This is our first vacation together, isn’t it Sammy?” Partially the truth, and said in such a genuine way, “We are really looking forward to some relaxation and spending some quality time together, aren’t we Sam?”

Sam could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. The clerk hummed happily as she handed them the keys.

“It’s the honeymoon suite,” she whispered to Sam as he took the heavy object from her hand. “It was vacant and your partner – Dean is it – just went on ahead and booked it.” She looked at his brother with a longing expression on her face. “You are so lucky,” she sighed.

“Oh yeah.” Sam didn’t know if he wanted to slap his brother or hug him. “Don’t I know it?”

***

“This is awesome.” Dean threw himself down on the king sized bed and sighed happily. Sunlight threw orange and yellow light across the ivory coverlet and turned the bottle of champagne on the dining table into a prism of multicolored sparkles.

“There is one tiny problem.” Sam felt suddenly exhausted. It had been a fairly short journey, compared to traveling places in the car, but he hadn’t gotten back to full fitness yet and he could feel it in every single joint in his body. “This being the honeymoon suite and all – you . . . . I mean – big as it is – there is only one bed.”

“Yeah, but look at the size of it, Sammy.” Dean, again, seemed unconcerned. “We can both share it and never actually touch each other.” He grinned. “And look at the view.” He swept his arm across the expanse of the huge patio doors and Sam had to agree that it was breath taking. A swathe of yellow sand and the endless blue ocean and in the distance figures of wind surfers and people playing in the water. “And there’s a wet room,” Dean added with a contented sigh.  
Sam huffed a laugh but it was weak at best and Dean sat up suddenly, eyes narrow.

“You shoulda’ told me you were feelin’ sick.” His brother looked a little annoyed. “Don’t hide things from me, Sam. We can’t keep having this conversation.”

“I’m not hiding, Dean.” Sam hated that look on his brother and he had seen it far too much over the past few months. “I felt fine. No, I _feel_ fine. I’m just tired, is all.”

“You need to lie down.” It was a statement and not a question and Sam nodded.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean smiled as he settled on his side of the bed. “A little sleep and a nice power shower and then down to the dock of the bay to have some tequila and chili.”

Sam yawned.

“I’m pretty sure that the dock of the bay in question, is in Jamaica, Dean.” He protested but sleep took him quick and deep before he could hear his brother’s retort.

He awoke to a wash of fading red across his pillow, the sky a blur of pink and orange. He felt much better and his grumbling stomach made itself heard. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember when he had last eaten a really good meal. Hospital food wasn’t ever going to cut it and before that he had always felt too nauseous to eat the food Dean had, painstakingly, prepared for him. 

He rolled over to find that Deans _side_ of the bed was empty and, for a fleeting moment, panic flooded through him but it didn’t last long as he heard his brother’s voice loud and strident coming from the bathroom.

Dean was no doubt trying out the power shower.

He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed watching the last of the sun sink into the ocean. It was a beautiful sight and it reminded him of California, Jess, and of the summer evenings they had spent on Half Moon beach, lying back in the sand, skin against skin, as they made love under the cover of the stars. He bit his lip wondering if he would ever find someone, he could actually settle with, someone who would understand him, and love him, for the damaged individual he surely was.

“Sam – stop thinking!”

Dean appeared in the doorway. He was wet, water dripping from his soaking hair onto his pink skin. He wore a thick white towel around his waist and Sam could see the flatness of his stomach, and the fading mark of Castiel’s hand on his arm. 

“Sorry.” He knew his brother would always be able to read his mind, to see through him as if he were transparent. He lowered his head and rubbed his hair. “Man,” he mused, a simple change of subject. “It is beautiful out there.”

“Yeah, and tomorrow we are gonna see it properly but tonight I’ve ordered room service and as many beers as you can drink. Gonna’ put off our trip to the local eateries until you have a bit more color in those cheeks.”

“Thanks mom!” Sam smiled, he gestured to the massive TV, a strange thing to find in the honeymoon suite where there were surely better things to do. “You wanna’ get some pay for view? Maybe watch a movie.”

“That sounds great, Sam.” Dean was smiling but Sam could see the concern in his eyes. “Just you and me, yeah?”

Sam felt his stomach twist and his mouth felt suddenly and inexplicably dry.

“Just you and me,” he replied.

Sam realized that he should have listened to Dean and gotten some board shorts. Outside of the hotel it was almost oppressively hot and he could already feel the sweat trickling down his neck and sticking his shirt to his spine. Dean’s face was red and damp and he looked as out of place as Sam did, the two of them wearing their usual t-shirts and jeans.

“If we are takin’ this seriously we need to get some shorts,” Sam broached the question tentatively because, despite his constant teasing, Dean really didn’t _do shorts_.

“Sam, that’s gay,” Dean snapped back almost instantly.

“We are gay – remember?” Sam snorted a wry laugh. “You don’t have any rep to maintain here, Dean. Everyone is in shorts, BUT us, and I want to rectify that.”

“Beach shop?” Dean gestured, somewhat reluctantly to the little wooden hut that was selling shorts, sun cream and sombreros.

“Yeah – and you know what? I’ll even buy you a hat!”

The shorts they bought were practical and Sam felt instantly cooler. He had had a lot of trouble trying to find some to fit him but these fit like a glove, long green combats that just skimmed his knees. It was hot enough for him to go shirtless and so he was now bare chested. He was aware that he had lost a considerable amount of mass during the trials but, slowly and surely, he was getting back to his _fighting weight_ and he could see some of the women lying prone on the sun loungers giving him some admiring sideway glances, although with Dean next to him he felt as if he could vanish and no one would ever notice.

Dean had chosen some black cropped trousers over shorts. They clung to his hips and hung low on his waist showing of his happy trail. He looked fit and healthy, his hair a little longer than it had been in a while, his eyes hidden behind his latest designer sunglasses (bought on Huxley’s seemingly limitless credit card). Sam had insisted he put on sun lotion and Dean had, surprisingly, agreed. Consequently he looked oiled and smooth like a male model and he was attracting attention from both men and women.

They found two loungers and collapsed onto them gratefully. Sam picked up the paperback he had bought in the lobby and rolled onto his stomach to read while Dean lowered his sunglasses and looked to be dozing.

It was weird - in a good way. The two of them just lying in the sunshine doing nothing. A million miles away from the trials, the bunker, the angels and their ultimate destiny. Thirty one years, and Sam had never experienced anything quite like it. Waiters bringing them cold drinks whenever they wanted them, and children playing happily completely unaware that the world kept going to shit. 

This wasn’t normal as Sam imagined it – this was some sort of luxurious, alternative normal but it was wonderful and – fuck – Sam wanted this. He wanted this forever.

“Do you ever stop thinking?” Dean’s voice broke into his musings and he tipped onto his back with a grin.

“Just thinking how much I like this, Dean.” He risked putting his hand on Dean’s thigh and giving it a fond squeeze. “I like being here – with you.”

 

“Sammy!” Dean pretended to be angry but his beaming smile said the opposite. “PDA, man - so not cool.”

“We’re a couple, remember?”

“Yeah, but it was you who said we weren’t doin’ _clichés_ , REMEMBER?!”

“Sorry, man.” It was a lie and Dean knew it. Sam let his hand slip off Dean’s thigh and he closed his eyes, his book forgotten.

Maybe later he would join the _normal people_ and go for a swim.

***

Sam was wasted; it had been too long since either of them had drunk more than a beer or two, that it hadn’t taken his light-weight brother long to work his way from merry to completely, falling on your ass, smashed.

They were in a bar; not a dingy beer smelling hole like the ones they normally frequented, but a swish Mexican hacienda type full of attractive women and muscle bound men all tanned within an inch of their lives. Dean put down his fake credit card to open a tab and the drinks started flowing. Tequila and lime followed by crisp bottled beer. Even the chili they ate earlier had done nothing to soak up Sam’s alcohol consumption and Dean was wondering if he should just give up and take Sam back to his room.

Trouble being, he was actually enjoying himself and it was such a rare and joyful feeling to give it up, Dean wants to stay here with Sammy and just laugh. He knows, deep down, that this can’t last, and that they won’t be able to stay here forever. He knows that the call of hunting, the inbuilt responsibility that their dad hammered into them will send them back to the bunker but for now he just wants this and he is determined to make it last for as long as possible.

“Let’s sing,” Sam slurred out and Dean couldn’t help but grin at his brother. Sam was already starting to tan, his skin starting to brown instead of the pasty white, the muscle he had lost starting to form again. Those long dark days following each trial, the thought that his brother might die, the endless weeks in hospital all seemed decades away now. Sam looked better than he had in years, maybe he had been partially purified, lost his demon blood, lost his darkness. Dean didn’t know what had happened really and he didn’t much care to even think about it. 

“Sing?”

“Karaoke,” Sam’s slur makes it hard to understand. “You always wanted me to do it,” he giggled in reply. “Remember?” 

“I don’t think so, Sammy.” Dean could really make something out of this, let his wasted brother sing his heart out, take photos and rib him forever more, but somehow he doesn’t. He just wants to see his brother happy for once, not tortured, not angry, not high on demon blood, and most of all, not dying.

“How about we dance, then?” Sam gestured clumsily to the dance floor. “There’s dancing.”

Dean nodded; there weren’t too many people on the small polished floor and, hell, it wasn’t as if he was going to be coming back here. He took Sam’s sweaty paw in his hand and dragged him forward.

“Can’t wait to see ya’ throw some moves.”

Sam beamed and began to dance; Dean didn’t know what he was expecting, Sam was too tall and too drunk to be elegant but, somehow, he just looked good. He seemed to lose himself in the music, body sinuous, twisting and dipping. He looked . . . he looked almost fuckable and Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt and disgust, he shouldn’t think about Sam like that. Sam was his brother, Sam had gotten sick trying to save the world and Dean was . . . Dean was half-hard, and it just wasn’t fucking right.

***

He managed to bundle his brother into his side of the huge bed and got off Sam’s shirt and shoes before he turned on his front (default drunk position) and started snoring. Dean swallowed as he stared at the back of Sam’s neck, the way his hair flicked up there, damp with sweat. He looked at the curve of Sam’s spine, the broadness of his shoulders - those shoulders had carried so much over the years and Dean just wanted to lighten the load for a while.

He sighed and sat down on his own side of the mattress. There was a fair distance between them and he could only just smell the faint tang of beer and tequila on Sam’s breath. He tried to justify his feelings back in the bar, the fact he was lonely, the fact he hadn’t had sex for a long, long time. He hadn’t ever really gone for men, he’d admired their bodies sometimes but anything sexual had just been confined to the female of the species. He didn’t know about Sam’s preferences but he had seen him with Jess, Madison and, hell, even that bitch Ruby. He knew that Sam had slept with countless people while he was soulless but Dean didn’t know if they had all been women and he knew Sam wasn’t about to tell him anytime soon.

And yet, he lay back on the bed still in his clothes, eyes closed as he let his mind wander – why? Why did he suddenly have the hot’s for his _‘little’_ brother?

***

Sam woke with a start; his mouth tasted like a toilet and his head was pounding. For a moment he thought that he was back in the bunker, back feeling so sick after one of the trials but then he remembered tequila and dancing and he knew he was going to throw up.

A shower and two pain killers later he was feeling more human. He opened the balcony door and stood in the fresh air staring out to sea. He had a sudden longing to go for a run along the beach or maybe swim in the salt ocean, he felt as if it would cleanse him, make everything better. 

Last night had been fantastic, the first time he and Dean had been _together_ for a long time. They had laughed together, gotten drunk together (well Sam had gotten drunk and Dean - he wasn’t sure about) and even danced. Sam’s heated flesh was nothing to do with the warmth of the day and he wondered how much teasing he was going to have to endure before Dean let him forget it.

He went back inside and ordered breakfast; he remembered the coffee Dean liked and remembered to ask for donuts and extra links. Dean slept through everything, face buried in the pillow, hair in messy spikes. Sam smiled, fondly, as he looked at his brother. He was glad they were friends again and he realized how much he hated it when they fought, hated it even more when they were estranged.

He woke Dean just as breakfast arrived and was surprised that his brother didn’t mention Sam’s drunken behavior, instead choosing to complement him on his choice of food and to, silently, drink his coffee. Sam wondered if he had done something he should apologize for, hoping upon hope he hadn’t done anything to hurt his brother because there had been enough pain between them and he couldn’t handle anymore.

“Do you wanna’ go to the beach this morning?” Sam looked longingly out of the windows. “We could catch some rays, maybe swim.”

“Sure.” Dean was already on his feet and stuffing things into his duffel. “We’ve gotta’ make the most of this, Sammy. Seize the day and all that shit.”

Sam stared at his brother feeling slightly perplexed. It was weird that Dean hadn’t attempted to tease him and he was acting a little strange. 

Down on the beach it got stranger. Dean found them a perfect spot, a little away from the rest of the tourists, and laid their towels out on the warm, golden sand. He put on his sunglasses and sprawled out on his back, arms akimbo. Sam stared at him for a moment and then walked slowly down to the ocean, determined to go in.

It was beautiful. The water was blue and clear and as he swam further out Sam could see brightly colored fish beneath the surface. The sky was azure and cloudless and Sam couldn’t help but wonder who was up there now, whether Metatron was ruling heaven on his lonesome. He rolled onto his back and floated aimlessly. He could see the beach and the distant figures littering the edge of the water. Where any of them fallen angels? Did they remember or were they just possessing humans now, forced to live human lives. Even now, nearly four months after the event, newspapers still eluded to _the people who fell from the sky_ and there were a million and one theories out there, ranging from meteor showers to UFO’s, none of them even close to the mark.

Sam knew that they would eventually be dragged back into it. They always were and there was no avoiding the issue. Several times they had both attempted _normal_ but it had never worked out, not really. Deep down Sam knew the reason, but his head wouldn’t let him admit it. 

Sam sighed and flipped over, swimming lazily back to shore. The fact Dean had done this, turned his back on what had happened, on Kevin, on Crowley and on Cas meant that it must have been really bad. He remembered snippets of it, he remembered that he had been so close to curing the self-proclaimed _King of Hell_. He remembered Dean stopping him, hauling him from the church and he remembered how he felt, hot, sick, and so close to death.

He wasn’t sure if everything connected with the trials had departed from his body. He wasn’t sure if he really was purified, if the demon blood that had plagued him all of his life had truly gone but he felt better than he had in a very long time. He felt fit, healthy, happy and content and it was all down to his brother.

“There you are.” Dean was standing at the water’s edge reluctant to come in any further. “I’m fucking starving, man. Let’s get some dinner. I’ve heard there’s pie in the _Copacabana bar_.”

Sam rose up out of the water and shook the droplets from his wet hair causing Dean to curse and swear like a trooper.

“Pie?” he said, licking his lips. “Then we better get down there before it all goes.”

***

Dean watched his brother rise out of the water like some sort of male model. He was aware that he wasn’t the only one with his eyes fixed on Sam. Two passing women in barely-there bikinis were also staring with some intent and Dean swallowed down something that could not be jealousy and grinned at them in a hopeful invitation. They were both hot but Dean noticed his brother had a thing for petite brunettes (that bitch Ruby, Madison and Amelia all seemed to be a type) so he nudged Sam to attract his attention.

“Told ya’ I’d get ya’ laid!” He gestured to the smaller of the two women whose pert tits seemed to be on the verge of falling out of her bikini top. “She seems to like you, Sammy – why don’t you go for it?” He bumped shoulders with his brother. “Her friend’s hot – we could double up.”

Sam looked down at him with a shocked expression and Dean almost laughed feeling on the verge of unexplained hysteria.

“Come on, dude,” Dean said. “We’ve both lived like monks for way too long.”

Sam hesitated for a moment and Dean knew, knew he was actually considering it. He could see the emotions flickering across his brother’s face, almost hear his brain working.

“Sammy . . . ,” he began and Sam shook his head with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t think so, Dean.”

“Fuck, Sam it’s been months since Amelia.” It hurt Dean to say the name, this was supposed to be a vacation, they were meant to be having fun and talking about the woman Sam loved, that Sam gave up for him wasn’t really on his _to-do-list_. “You’ll get blue balls, man!”

Sam stared at him for a long silent moment and then he threw back his head and laughed, actually laughed.

“Shit!” Sam was moving towards the two women now and Dean found himself staring open mouthed. “You’re right, Dean. I am feelin’ better. Plus we’re on vacation, I’ve done beer and tequila and I nearly did fucking karaoke so why not go all out and get myself laid?”

And Dean – Dean was speechless.

***

Sam looked smart, hot even, in a black shirt and tight black jeans that were unlike anything that _Sam the hunter_ would wear.

Dean sat on the bed, his stomach twisted and tight, it was sick that he should feel so jealous, sick that he wanted his brother to be happy and yet he just wanted his brother. He wished he hadn’t thrown Sam at the girls, wished he hadn’t spent the rest of the afternoon watching Sam woo BOTH of them; swimming, frolicking, and splashing them like a horny teenager.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Sam glanced over and came to sit down next to Dean, the waft of spicy aftershave and minty toothpaste emanating from him.

“Are we double-dating?” Dean knew he looked rank, scruffy old t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants. “I thought you had kept them both for yourself.”

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam shook his head. “Have you forgotten our cover? Gay couple? The clerk on the desk just loves to gossip and – well – we are quite famous here now.”

“What?”

“Those girls were sweet but they weren’t hitting on _the gay guy_. I was just kiddin’ Dean. I’m not . . . ,” he paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not interested in _that_. I-I just want to have fun with you, at least until we have to go back to the bunker.”

Dean’s throat closed but he tried to keep it together. He could smell Sam’s cologne; feel the warmth of Sam’s hand on his arm. He ached, in a good way, ached to just take Sam in his arms but he couldn’t.

“We are gonna’ go back to the bunker,” Sam’s voice was soft. “Aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Dean had booked them in for ten days and, at the time, it had seemed like an eternity but now, a few days in, it just didn’t seem long enough. “Yeah, we are gonna’ have to.”

Sam was silent for a while and then he smiled, soft and tender and so fucking beautiful that it actually hurt.

“Then get your best suit on, big brother, because I’ve booked us a table in the nicest place in town and if we are gonna party we need to get out of here fast.”

Dean knew he had a rep to maintain so he smirked, got to his feet and slapped his brother on his wide shoulder.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” was all he managed but it was enough to make Sam smile.

***

Sam watched his brother across the table and wondered.

He still thought Dean was acting oddly but he couldn’t put his finger on it and it puzzled him. 

Dean hadn’t teased him over his drunkard attempt at dancing or over his eagerness to do karaoke. He hadn’t taken incriminating pictures, video’s or called Sam a girl. He had made a vague attempt to get Sam laid but it had been half-hearted at best and the expression on his face when he had thought Sam was going out with the girls without him had been morose to say the least.

So for Dean the behavior was so - weird.

Sam didn’t know quite what to make of this _new_ Dean. He was certain that Dean wasn’t mad at him for any reason and that he couldn’t be quite so worried about Sam’s health anymore. Sam felt fine, hell he felt more than fine and this vacation was just what he needed. He didn’t think of Amelia much anymore and he didn’t regret choosing Dean. He had been a fool to think he could avoid the hunt forever and now he was resigned, almost in a good way, to that life forever.

“You okay, Sam?” Dean’s voice interrupted his reverie and he looked up to see concerned green eyes staring at him. “I lost you for a minute there.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam smiled, wryly. “What about you, Dean?”

“Me?” Dean looked affronted to be asked. “Good. I’m good, Sammy.”

“You are acting kinda’ strange.” Sam wished he could keep his mouth shut but, as usual, he had spoken without really thinking it through. “Even for you.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed and he stared down at his napkin as if it fascinated him.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m good.”

“Really?” Sam didn’t want to push but he didn’t want bad blood between them, not again. “Cause you’re not acting fine – you – you are acting weird.”

A flush came across Dean’s cheeks, red beneath the smattering of freckles, his eyes on everything but Sam. Yep – there was definitely something wrong but Sam knew, from experience, that he wasn’t going to be getting anything out of Dean anytime soon.

“Look, Dean.” He decided to take the middle ground. “Let’s eat our steaks and get something sinful for desert and then – then let’s go wild and walk along the beach in the moonlight or something lame like that. Anyone sees us - it doesn’t matter, they will just think it’s romantic.”

Dean looked up for a moment and Sam was sure he saw panic in his brother’s eyes.

“You wanna’ have a romantic stroll along the sand with me?” Dean’s voice was shaking and Sam’s mouth went dry as something clicked. “Really, Sam?”

And then it all came together, the strange behavior, the jealousy, the lack of teasing, the way his brother had been acting. It didn’t seem possible, didn’t seem right but Sam was certain he hadn’t misread things, certain that he knew exactly what Dean’s problem was.

“Yeah.” And everything lifted making him feel so relieved, so light, he was almost dizzy with it. “Yeah, Dean, I do.”

And, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, his brother was speechless, again.

***

The water was cool, swishing around his bare feet and wetting the hem of his best jeans, despite his valiant attempts at rolling them up. There was a warm breeze ruffling his hair and the night smelt fresh, the tangy scent of salt water mixing with the distant aroma of fresh wild flowers. In the semi-darkness, the sky seemed low, stars littering the heavens, bright diamonds of silver and gold. The moon was heavy and full and for the first time in his life Dean wasn’t thinking of werewolves and ripping out their hearts.

“You found us paradise,” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper. “It’s beautiful here.”

Dean couldn’t trust himself to speak. He could feel the heat of Sam’s body next to his, hear the gentle in-and-out of his breathing. It hadn’t been that long ago that Sam’s breathing had been labored, struggling against the weakness and the lethargy that the trials had brought upon him. Now his brother was fit and well again and, if there was anyone left up there to thank, Dean would have been thanking them right the hell now.

“Yeah it’s pretty sweet,” he tried to keep his voice even but he was aware of the quiver in it. “I wasn’t sure if . . . .”

His throat closed and he rubbed at his face, embarrassed and feeling foolish. Sam cleared his throat and, to Dean’s shock (and maybe horror) he felt Sam’s warm hand creep into his, he felt Sam’s long fingers tighten fiercely around his own and he stopped, feet sinking into the sand beneath them, water lapping around his ankles.

It was like he had stepped into another world, their own a million miles away. Sam was a warm, comforting presence next to him, his tanned face illuminated by the moonlight, no deep shadows beneath his eyes, his mouth curved into a warm and knowing smile.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, warily, as if he were trying to gentle a skittish animal. “Whatever you want, Dean. Whatever you need, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t and it never would be. He wanted – fuck – he wanted to kiss his brother, he wanted to pull Sam in and mash their lips together and how could that ever be okay? He could put his feelings down to the stress of the past – what? – decade, or he could put it down to some sort of post-purgatory episode but whatever it was it wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t right.

“Dean.” Sam tugged at his hand and pulled him closer, pulled him so that they were flush up against each other, Sam’s hand buried in Dean’s hair. “Dean, come on man, I need you to be honest with me.”

Dean shook his head; he wanted nothing more than to bolt, to run along the sand and to just get out of there. Sam was frowning at him, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.

“Dean,” he said again and this time Dean didn’t even think about it, just lunged forward, pressed a quick, swift kiss against Sam’s mouth, then pulled away and sprinted back up the beach as fast as he legs would take him, his stupid heart pounding all the fucking time.

Sam caught up with him just as he was about to unlock the door to their room. His brother was panting hard and Dean felt instant guilt wondering if he had damaged Sam again, concerned he had hurt him. Didn’t look like it though, because Sam just turned him around, slammed him hard against the door and pressed his long body up against Dean’s own. Sam’s face was a picture of determination and he grinned as he grabbed Dean by the shoulder and, to Dean’s lasting surprise, kissed him hard and long, his mouth insistent, urging Dean on.

“Sam . . . ,” Dean paused for a moment, breathless and confused. “Sammy.”

“Dean,” his brother’s voice was full of affection and exasperation. “Open the damn door and let us in before we give every single guest in this damn hotel an eyeful.”

Dean swallowed, laughed weakly and, for the first time in a long time, did as he was asked.

***

Sam was lying down on their massive double bed, his face illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through their windows. Sam had already taken off his shirt and undershirt, those tight black jeans clinging to places that Dean shouldn’t even be thinking of.

“Come on,” Sam whispered, even though no one was listening. “Get with the program.”

“This is wrong,” Dean had to say it out loud. “We’re brothers.”

“In an emotionally unstable relationship. What did Zachariah say? That we were erotically co-dependent?” Sam grinned and shifted his hips. “I want you, Dean. I want this.”

“Incest, Sam!”

“Not our biggest sin.” Sam’s fingers played with his belt, pulling it open and tugging it out of the loops. “Nowhere near.”

“I don’t understand where all this is coming from.” Dean was torn between leaping on top of Sam, and running away. “Do you think Crowley cast some sort of spell on us?”

Sam huffed.

“Last time I saw the _King of Hell_ he was tied to a chair begging for forgiveness. I seriously doubt he has enough mojo to hex us. Dean this isn’t a spell or a curse or anything supernatural. It’s just us and the way we feel.”

“You don’t want this, you wanted normal, a nice life with Amelia.”

“Yeah, I did want that but I thought you were dead. I-I want a life with you, Dean. A life, saving people, hunting things, blah, blah, blah!”

“Sammy.”

“If you don’t get your stupid shirt off and get onto this bed in the next minute I’m withdrawing my offer.” Sam was smiling and his expression belied his harsh words.

“You really want this?” Dean felt like a girl, fumbling with his buttons, his cock beginning to perk up and take notice.

“Yeah.” Sam had slipped his jeans down his thighs and Dean could only stare in wonder at the sight laid out in front of him. “Now come over here, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean hissed out and everything seemed good and right all of a sudden.

***

No one said it wouldn’t be awkward.

Dean wanted this so badly it hurt even though he wasn’t quite sure where all these feelings had come from. He had always loved Sam, loved him so much he would do anything for him, give up his soul, his life, anything to make him happy. He never thought he would love him like this but it shouldn’t really come as a surprise, the two of them had been tangled up in each other for the whole of their lives and this, right here, was the natural and right conclusion.

So Dean lay down beside Sam and kissed him again. His brother’s lips were surprisingly soft and they opened automatically for him, their tongues meeting half way, licking into each other’s mouths until neither of them could wait a moment longer.

Touching Sam was easier than he thought it might be. Sam hard in his hand, Sam moaning and bucking his hips, Sam crying out for Dean as Dean prepared him slowly, gently, and entered him with the utmost of care. This was something precious, something no-one else had ever had. This was Sam surrendering to him, years and years of hurt and resentment wiped away by this moment. The two of them joined almost like a ritual, a final trial that they both passed leaving them drained and sated and wrapped in each other’s arms so tight it was hard to know where one began and the other ended.

***

Like most honeymoons it was soon over and Sam knew they had to go back.

He packed his duffel stuffing new board shorts and sunglasses into whatever space was available. When he had finished he went for a quick shower and when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror he had to take a pause, astonished, hardly recognizing himself.

Where his skin had been pale it was tanned and healthy. His hair, much too long now, had turned light brown in the sun and it was clean and fresh looking. Muscle had started to develop on his shoulders and arms. His ribs were no longer visible and it was as if he had never done the trials, purified in a whole new way.

He smiled at himself and leaned back against the basin. Who knew this is what real love could do for you. He’d loved before of course, Jess and Amelia, both of them occupying fond parts of his memory. Now he had a love that he was certain would last for an eternity, a love that heaven, hell or purgatory couldn’t tear asunder. He laughed to himself, laughed at his stupid romantic notions, notions that Dean would tease him about and that Dean might very well dismiss as _chick flick moments_.

Life wouldn’t really change; they would hunt, they would take on all of the world’s problems, shoulder the burdens, try to save people wherever they could but now, now they were united in a way that they had never been before. They were brothers, friends and lovers and Sam loved it, wanted it, and would never ask for anything else.

Castiel was out there somewhere and they had to find him; Kevin was still in the bunker and needed their protection, angels must be walking every part of the earth and the natural order had to be restored. This should fill him with fear but it didn’t, he had his brother now, both of them whole and well and stronger together. He had no doubt they could surmount every single obstacle that was put in front of them. As Metatron had been told - _they were the friggin’ Winchesters_ and they were going to save the world together.

End


End file.
